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<title>A Poetic Ramble With No Sense Whatsoever by WanSue</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494531">A Poetic Ramble With No Sense Whatsoever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanSue/pseuds/WanSue'>WanSue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ramblings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:48:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanSue/pseuds/WanSue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yesterday, around 4 am, my brain started to speak.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Poetic Ramble With No Sense Whatsoever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Perhaps it will be that I'll die by tomorrow; for I cannot fathom how could I ever get any older, any wiser than what I already am.</p><p>Arrogancy, I know, and maybe even willful blindness on my part; how could I expect to know it when I've yet to experiment it, to live it and integrate it as I breathe by, as my time happens, flowing with no return to that past I so long to relive.</p><p>That is, I think, the folly of being a grown up: a blurry picture of could haves, should haves, would haves. Regrets long since realized, before unseen to my eyes while still blindingly obvious to those around me.</p><p>A second chance to remake my life, so old yet still so young, already burdened with those concerns someone who is barely a child should not observe. Alas no being can run it's life backwards, only live it so and then proceed to lament over it.</p><p>Such a shame, I think. Such a shame that you live so, dear, trapped in your past, refusing to see what is in front of you; still collecting only future regrets that will only enbitter your life more.</p><p>So when you're alone, left behind on your own, having to face the consequences of your acts or non-acts, then what'll become of you? What will you live for, die for? Nothing, I tell you; nothing until you stand up for once and for all, until you see yourself, accept yourself, love yourself.</p><p>Things will matter none if you're not even able to breathe for yourself, if you find so little merriment on the travel we are all sharing. If there's no joy, what's the point?</p>
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